


Fractures

by easternCriminal



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, No Plot, Oneshot, really whipped this up to try and burn off some of the energy I had after watching the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 18:47:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17208923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easternCriminal/pseuds/easternCriminal
Summary: Peter dreams of standing in a room of mirrors, seeing himself reflected back again and again and again. Millions upon million of him.





	Fractures

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quick thing I whipped up after watching the movie for the second time to try and burn some of the energy it gave me. I don't know why I find Peter B. Parker so interesting, but I really do.

When Peter was six aunt May and Uncle Ben took his to this fancy art exhibit. Most of it was lost on him - very symbolic and simplistic. Blank canvases abound and pieces of glass blown into other pieces of glasses trying to say something about the self inside the self that to a young Peter just looked like pretty if not somewhat boring glass. The only exhibit that caught his eye was in the walkway. Two mirrors held perfectly parallel to one another. With wide eyes he looked at himself reflecting a thousand times back. Watching as a single blink echoed across his face like a ripple in a pond. It had taken the combined efforts of both May and Ben to drag him away, enraptured by the many selves.

oOo

 

Peter B. Parker breaks his back.

Then when, the where, the why… it’s not important. It fades into the background as the pain echoes through his entire being and Peter B. Parker, Spiderman, the one and only… doesn’t get back up. He finds an alleyway, lets the thug get away, and just lays there and allows himself to ache. Deep down he knows that he let this happen to him, in a way shape or form. His mind wasn’t in the game anymore, it was wherever MJ was. Wherever she was not thinking about him. Peter closes his eyes and breaths and it  _ hurts _ . God, it hurts. But he stays down, in the gutter. 

Slowly the sky begins to turn a pinkish red - red like MJ’s hair and he hurts all over again. Even when he rises - and half heartedly swings back to his apartment while the dawn is still just dark enough - he doesn’t really  _ get back up. _

 

oOo

 

Peter dreams of standing in a room of mirrors, seeing himself reflected back again and again and again. Millions upon million of him. But it’s still him, still his face with his broken eyes and lined face and two day old stubble that is really beginning to look a whole new unsightly. He feels like he’s searching the face of every one of them, desperately trying to see if there is a single one of them that isn’t broken in some way. 

 

oOo

 

His eyesight is full of red and he can’t see, can’t control himself. He hadn’t anticipated this kind of a reaction to downing the serum, he’d just wanted to help out his friend. All Peter had wanted was to help help and…

Pain echoes through him as his body collides with the ground. Distantly, he recognizes that Gwen wouldn’t die from a fall like that. Apparently even after whatever it was he took, he still couldn’t match her… Gwen! His eyes flutter open, and his entire body feels clammy and gross, like he’s in desperate need of a shower. Breaths are coming out raspy and weak and he looks up and sees her there as she shoves up her mask. Eyes wide full of fear. He can tell, something is broken deep down in him, either from the fall or from the serum. Peter isn’t sure and it doesn’t matter at this point. 

He is so tired.

He closes his eyes, just for a second. 

 

oOo

 

Thousands and thousands of dead Uncle Ben’s. Peter goes through a million funerals. He gives speeches. In some he runs away in tears. Ben was old. Ben was only in his twenties. In some Peter helps carry the coffin, in some he helps shovel the dirt. MJ is there, Gwen is there, Eddie is there, Harry is there. 

At this one he is alone.

They all hurt. Every single one. He stands off to the side in a muted, colorless world, head bowed as the coffin is lowered. In this one he’s nineteen and he pulled out a cigarette, even as a tear falls down the side of his face. This him vows it to be his last tear. The final tear. He can feel his heart harden and darken and break, the pieces falling to oblivion. This time Peter doesn’t speak, he just walks away halfway through the funeral, Uncle Ben’s words echoing in his head. 

At least all the Peter’s have that in common.

 

oOo

 

Peter knows a broken back when he feels one. And this Peter’s got it bad. The air is choked with dust, and what little that can make it through his lungs makes a hissing sound that causes him to cough, sending ripples of pain through him. The shadow of Kingpin falls over him and he knows, he  _ knows _ , in that moment.

There is nothing more tortuous than his senses yelling at him,  _ screaming at him _ , and for Peter to literally be unable to do anything about it. It’s not quick, it’s not painless. The giant fists connect to his chest and burst through his bones, break through his rib cage. And his damn sharp senses let him feel every bit of it. His own heart shredding itself to pieces as it continues desperately to pump blood, only scraping itself against the shrapnel that is now his bones. 

Death is stretches on for a small infinity. 

 

oOo

 

Most Peter’s make it work with MJ. 

 

oOo

 

Turning to dust is actually painless… like a fluttering of his limbs as they become nothingness. 

 

oOo

 

He buries friends. 

 

oOo

He gets buried  _ because _ of friends.

 

oOo

 

Peter always wakes from these dreams with a jolt, as if his chest is actually broken, as if his heart is failing, as if half of him has already disintegrated, as if…

The dreams slip through his fingers leaving him feeling worn and confused. Breathing heavily for no reason. His back still aches from breaking it, and he wonder if it will ever be the same again. Eventually, he gets himself back up and walks over to his bathroom to brush his teeth and start his day. Squinting at his reflection in the fractured glass, he stares, almost unfamiliar with the sorry face he sees. 

He really should get around to fixing it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you are having a lovely day and if not I hope this helped in some way, shape, or form.


End file.
